


blow a kiss, fire a gun

by galaxyeyedrops



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12903363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops
Summary: Akira accidentally hires a deep web hitman to kill his boyfriend. (Whoops!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for context, please check out [this thread](https://twitter.com/deskbot00/status/906357675646226432)
> 
> the only spoiler in here is one that's easy to guess/i dont mind ppl knowing beforehand tbh

It starts off, as many things do, with alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

Legally, none of them can drink. Akira and Ryuji are only nineteen; Futaba, a year younger. But also legally speaking, the world is constantly teetering between _sorta fucked_ and _majorly fucked_ so Akira's pretty sure he'll be fine.

(Probably.)

They're spread out on the floor of Akira's apartment—the only one of the three that lives alone, courtesy of being the out of town kid who begged his parents let him study in Tokyo, with the promise of good grades, good behavior, and a phone call a week.

Akira's got one, maybe two of of three done, and like objectively speaking, sixty six percent is totally a passing grade.

He finished up his weekly call an hour or so back, complete with the requisite _miss you too mom_ and total agreement that the love rival on that new historical drama was the worst, the absolute worst. Ryuji agreed as well, judging from his assurances in the background, so Akira handed the phone to him while he swung by the corner store to stock up on beer.

One of his upperclassmen was behind the register—a serious looking girl in his program, who sold him her old assignments for cash. It's sort of like a bonus effect from doing business with her; as long as he continues to buy papers off her and not a competitor (the sheer amount of them was rather surprising at first), she'll let him buy whatever cheap alcohol his heart desires on her shift.

It's not a bad arrangement. Getting an upperclassman to buy him beer normally would cost more, said upperclassman undoubtedly taking their own cut, but like this he can get his stuff at market price, saving cash that he was going to spend on assignments anyways.

The line is blessedly short, the lunch rush having come and gone, and Akira makes it back to the apartment in record time.

Futaba arrived in the time he was gone, a demo disk from her favorite indie publisher lying on the table. She perks up the moment she sees him, excitedly jabbering about how totally awesome this is gonna be, how long she had to wait for this disk, and how come Ryuji never gets any of the good snacks in the same breath.

Ann was supposed to be here as well, but unfortunately, one of the other models at her agency came down with the flu right before an important job, and she had to fill in. Yusuke had an open invitation as well, he tended to show up more often than not, his critique led him to butt heads with Futaba more than once, but like Ann, he was also occupied. He had shut himself up in his room this morning, warning everyone not to disturb him, to not even so much as knock on his door, until his project was finished.

And so, with their supply of reasonable people woefully short, the three of them each grab a can and settle in.

The game is short, as to be expected from a demo disk, but it's good, story immersive, characters engaging, with only a few bugs showing up on the less common dialogue options.

There's still time before sundown, so they elect to watch a movie next—Futaba's copy of Super Hero Taisen Z conveniently on his shelf, borrowed a month back but so far unwatched.

The rest of the evening is lost among the arguments of _Kamen Rider Wizard was actually good, and so was Ghost!_ and _why are they so evenly matched when stats clearly state…;_ Akira takes another swing, and within minutes, that too is lost.

The hours pass by, distant and hazy, the only clear thing their one constant: every single argument always comes back to Akira's boyfriend. It's usually Ryuji who leads the charge, complaining how the other thinks he's better than everyone, how he acts so picture perfect, how he doesn't even support the Yomiuri Giants.

Usually Akira interrupts around here, insisting that yeah, Goro is totally amazing—with a wink and saucy smirk that leaves them both disgusted. Today, however, he lets it go. Snorts at Futaba's mention of the deep webs, laughing to himself and murmuring _deep_ again and again under his breath.

Futaba looks at him expectantly, and with nothing better in his brain, Akira says his boyfriend's name.

For once in his life that's a good answer because Futaba rushes to type it in, hitting the wrong key more than once in her drunken haze. Ryuji hands him another drink.

"Fuck that guy," He says eloquently, raising a can.

"Yeah," Akira agrees, brain sluggish but working its hardest to supply him with images of Goro in various states of undress. " _Fuck_ that guy."

He raises his own to meet Ryuji's, the liquid sloshes and stirs, splashing to stain both of their shirts.

They drink.


	2. Chapter 2

His neighbor knocks in cut time. A steady one two, one two and beat, that echoes through the cheap metal door, into the small studio behind—and makes Akira want to rip out his hair and claw out his brain.

His arms ache as he lifts them up to cover his ears, muscles sore, as if experiencing backlash from all the workouts he never had. The knocking persists, rising, rising, in both volume and tempo, only interrupted by a mumbled _shut up asshole_ from a figure to his right.

Naturally, his neighbor doesn't hear the other—a good thing, Akira's not ready to be the recipient of one of their screaming matches anytime soon—and continues knocking in earnest.

Akira reaches for his phone blindly, hitting more than a couple of empty cans in the process, before he emerges with his prize, in all of its cracked screen and case-free glory.

He unlocks it quickly, uses the side of a nail to scroll through his contacts before landing on a name written entirely in katakana. A touch, a quickly typed _come in_ —followed immediately after by a _not so loud plz_ and the phone is back in its honored position.

The lock clicks as a key turns, the hinge creaks as the door swings open, revealing a teenager with striking blue eyes and messy black hair—features only partially hidden by his cat ear hoodie.

He takes off his shoes by the entrance, a polythene bag pushed up to his wrist, bobbing back and forth with the movement.

"Don'tcha have school?" Ryuji asks, slowly lifting himself off the floor into what he probably believes to be a dignified sitting position.

Morgana scoffs. "My grades are fine," he says. The _unlike you_ is silent but implied. Akira sits up as well, raising a hand, stopping Ryuji before he steps on that landmine—then stretches it out towards Morgana, fingers slightly curled.

"Gimme," he says, gesturing to the bag. His stomach rumbles a moment after, in a show of solidarity.

Morgana sighs but follows through, the bag sails through the air and lands squarely in Akira's lap. Ten points. A perfect measured arch, an even dismount, and not a single item falls from the bag.

Ryuji scoots closer as Akira runs inventory. He organizes the onigiri by flavor: salmon for himself, umeboshi also for himself, and maybe the Okay Flavors for Ryuji. There are no drinks but Morgana, far too used to this, is already turning on the electric kettle, a couple bottles of mineral water tucked under his arm for immediate consumption.

The mineral water stock is all on Goro to be honest. He bought Akira one of those fancy water pitchers a couple months back, the type with colorful cross sections of their advanced filtration system displayed all over the box and three copies of mail in warranty—something Akira immediately proceeded to neglect. The water went down too slow ( _that means it's working_ ), he constantly forgot to fill it up ( _make a schedule_ ), plus the water itself started tasting sour after a while ( _you're supposed to replace the filter idiot_ ).

Goro had ranted on for a while when he told him it was too much trouble, stuff from the quality of his apartment's pipes (awful) to a lecture about hydrogen ions featuring the same cross section illustration displayed on the pitcher's box.

Akira waited, letting him cool down by himself was usually the best solution with these things, only firing back with a _buying water at the store would be so much less work_ when the other finished. And for better or worse, Goro agreed. He showed up the next day with a 30 pack of water bottles, dropping them in front of the TV so Akira couldn't just ignore and forget, and continued to do so every week, on the clock.

Akira would be lying if he said that the fancy bottled water didn't taste any better—would be lying if he said if it wasn't more or less ambrosia in this very moment, as it cascaded down the desert formerly known as Akira's throat, fighting off his headache with the power of capitalism or something.

The kettle whistles soon enough, Morgana scrambling after it and pouring its contents over the last of Akira's hangover tea bags. Those, in contrast to Goro's fancy water, came cheap, thrown in a corner of the supermarket with a slightly faded discount tag—and while Akira wasn't sure if it actually worked or not, the boring old professor in his Psych class talked enough about the placebo effect for Akira to not want to question it.

There's a note on the fridge that Morgana hands him after he's eaten his fill. Ann dropped by last night to pick up Futaba and upon seeing exactly how drunk the younger girl was ( _seriously_ _akira_ ,  _learn to limit_ ) took her to her own apartment so Sojiro wouldn't kick up too much of a fuss. Akira tosses the note into the empty polythene bag, crushed cans and chip bags following suit later. A run to the bathroom, a quick shower, another bottle of water and some ibuprofen, and he's ready to go out.

He doesn't have to worry about dinner tonight—Goro's taking him out to some fancy new place—but he's got class in the evening and promised Morgana he'd get him something nice for making his grade's top twenty.

He says his goodbyes to Ryuji at the door, the other planning to get a bit more sleep in before his own classes, grabs a pair of sunglasses, and they're off.

Tokyo's streets take a bit of getting used to, especially with the afternoon rush in full swing, and while Akira's not there yet—country boy upbringing leading him to take personal space as a granted—he's making good leeway. He twists and turns, steering through the crowd with all the confidence of a professional and almost the finesse, dragging Morgana into their train right before it fills.

The ride is fairly short, pulling into Shibuya Station within minutes. Akira elects to ditch the 109 (Ann had once given Morgana a pair of cat ear headphones, and combined with the power of a Teenager With A Crush, the aesthetic had quickly taken over the poor high schooler's life), stopping at Mark City instead.

They take their time wandering through the stores, finding more things that would suit Ann over either of them (which isn't saying much, considering how _everything_ suits Ann). They end up on a couple of trinkets, a Doreamon keychain along with a few capsule machine mini figures. Akira's luck tends to fluctuate from pretty decent to goddamn awful, but when it comes to gacha, its downright godly. Without a doubt, his neighbor is gonna be the envy of all the kids on the playground. 

He takes Morgana to Zanmai after to top it all off—the walk carving a space in his stomach for a late lunch, appetite equal to his sushi loving companion. The contrast is how they eat. Akira inhales his food quickly, setting his plate aside not that long in while Morgana savors each bite, making all the right appreciative noises that the chefs love.

Akira leaves Shibuya with a fuller stomach and emptier wallet. He says goodbye to Morgana at the station—the other heading home to display his shiny new toys while Akira, responsible adult that he is, has to suffer through program mandated MBTI propaganda.

He's halfway through his class, clock ticking incredibly slow, eyelids struggling to stay open—when his phone vibrates in his pocket, one quick buzz followed by another.

Akira pulls it out, tapping on the notification, _two messages from Futaba,_ before the screen can go black.

 

* * *

 

_we got a problem_

_come asap_

**Author's Note:**

> please kudos/comment if you liked!


End file.
